


Pain

by nightrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-06
Updated: 2009-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title: Pain</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Pain

Title: Pain

Author: nightrose_spn

Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC

Warnings: Wincest, Character Death, general depressingness, sex, angst, self-injury.

Summary: He hasn't felt anything good since Sammy died. But pain is still there, pain can drive away the nothingness. He'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.

Rating: Hard R

Genre: Angst

Disclaimer: All your Winchesters are not belong to me. All this disclaimer are not belong to me. All your Three Days Grace song are not belong to me.

Author's Note: My first piece in this fandom. I'm working on a couple of others (which have pretty much devolved into porn) but of course the first one I can actually _finish_ is the ubersuperdepressing one. And reviews are amazing, and beautiful, and make me happy.

I'm begging her. with every broken, panting, fucked-out breath. More, I need more, more pain, because I can still feel it. This seems better somehow, less sick, more _me_ than taking a knife to my own damn skin. And whenever I do that, I can see the look in his phantom eyes, broken and pleading, _No, Dean, I love you…_ because he'd never want me to hurt myself, and that's why I'm alive. Why I didn't take the fucking gun to my head the moment he left me.

Fucking some faceless nameless girl is so much truer. He wouldn't hate me for this, even if I'm arching not from the heat of her body clenching around me, but from the sharp pain of fingernails scratching down my back, and it hurts, it hurts so fucking good because I can't feel the pleasure but I can feel the pain.

I don't think I'm the only one. Through the haze, I can hear her begging too, for all the same things. _._ There's the shadow of something between us. Not in the right way, there's no love here, not even the ghost of it, but I see my own broken face in the twisting, darkened form beneath me. She's lost something too, she needs this as much as I do, and so hard and hurting we thrust towards each other, into each other.

 _I'll fix it. I'll make it all better. Doesn't matter that there's nothing inside you_ no pun intended I'm talking about the thing that used to be your heart _I'm here to show you because I've done this so many fucking times, I'm used to the pain and the release._

It's better than cutting. I don't have to do it to myself, lay the thin blade carefully again and again to my skin, dragging it across, kissing away the bubbles of blood that come up just like he used to when I had a hunting injury, just like I used to when he was a kid.

 _Don't worry, baby, I'll kiss it all better._

Worked when he was broken inside too, but I'm not allowed to think about that. I'm not allowed to remember when I was happy, because then not even the pain can fill that aching emptiness that pushes from the inside of my ribs up and out, shattering me in a way no physical injury ever could. I've been hurt plenty of times, I'm a hunter, it's in the job description. But this goes beyond pain. Pain is the fucking _cure_ to this. This is something so much worse. It's the absence of anything and everything, and I can't make anyone hurt me enough to drown it out.

The girl laces her fingers in my hair and pulls, I feel the strands tug loose in her grip, and I moan in a parody of pleasure. I can feel my skin come loose in her grip, and I thank her with a hard bite to her shoulder, a sharp thrust in and in. We break each other apart with lips and teeth and hips and hands, so hard, so harsh. It's not like my meaningless one-night stands usually are _hey I don't know you, you don't know me, I'm horny, you're horny, let's get each other off_ it's something a little different _hey I don't know you, you don't know me, I'm broken, you're broken, let's tear each other apart._ And it's just as meaningless. Though for once I'm feeling a real emotion during sex, it has nothing to do with her. She's just a body to help me rip myself to pieces.

She sobs as she comes, and her too-long nails now raking across my chest, my sensitive nipples, send me over the edge as well. It hurts, _really fucking hurts._

I can feel it.

Better than inflicting the pain myself. Better than trying to numb the numbness with ungodly quantities of booze. Better than chasing the adrenaline rush of the hunt and half _okay more than that_ hoping the creature will finish me off.

My orgasm isn't pleasurable at all, I haven't felt a good feeling since…

But it hurts, and that's more than enough.

Her eyes are fierce now, as she sits halfway up to look at me. "I ought to ask your name," she says.

"You don't care any more than I do." And I don't know whether I'm talking about her name or my own.

"His name was Daniel. I loved him."

"He left you."

"Last week. Feels like a lifetime. Does it stop hurting?"

"If you're lucky, it'll start. It's the not feeling that's the worst."

"Who was she?"

"He was…" I push away from her, across a motel bed like the thousands he and I shared over so many years. "His name was…" I shake my head. "I don't even _think_ that name anymore."

"Did he leave you?"

"In a way." I open my eyes to the darkened room, because behind my eyelids I see the endless loop of his body falling broken and lifeless to the floor. "He died. Six years now."

She doesn't bother with the cliché _I'msorry_ because we don't know each other, we don't care about each other, we don't care about anything.

"And it doesn't get better. And it doesn't get easier. And you're still going to be in love a decade from now. Still sleeping with random strangers and taking a blade to your own wrists, even though you know how much he'd hate you for it. Better than putting a gun to your head." I smile at her, at the pain I can see in her eyes. "But maybe it's different for you. I can see the hurt in your face… pain gets better. Emptiness doesn't."

I can feel the weight of it settling in my gut again already. The respite only lasted as long as the pain… now there's nothing once again.

I stand, pulling on my pants, the weight of the Impala's keys _remembering his lips on mine in the backseat please I'm old enough please I'm ready I want you inside me I want you to make love to me why was I so damn noble I could have had him even one more time_ familiar in my hand as I leave her there, broken on the bed.

I turn back from the doorway and say something I haven't for six years. "Sam. His name was Sam."

 _I love you Dean please_

 _Sammy baby you know I love you too can't hurt you can't ever hurt you_

I wasn't enough to save him. And now I'm not enough to live without him.

The pain is gone now, all I can feel is the lancing nothingness deep in my gut.

And the comforting press of my .45 in my pocket.

 _Sammy I'm so sorry I don't think I can do this anymore_

 _Not without you_


End file.
